My Eating Disorder Story: Introduction

Being Anorexic,
Is like being sick,
For an entire lifetime.
Being diagnosed should be considered a mental crime.
To feel as though you must measure your;
Being an Anorexic makes you so, so sick.
You always feel like you failed if you eat anything else besides a few pieces of kale.
You have no energy.
Vertigo is a bitch that comes with it.
Oh, the goddamn ketones.
Ketones are a lovely cell that your body produces
That essentially eat you alive,
To keep you alive.
From the inside out.
I remember walking into the sterile smelling,
Metal reflecting,
Treatment bathroom.
Unbuttoning my loosely sized double zero jeans,
I caught a glance at myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked beautiful, at that moment.
I put the small plastic cup between my legs,
Not expecting to receive the rock bottom news that would choke me.

The emotion and mental haze that being Anorexic brings,
Equates to the pain of a billion wasp stings.
From lack of food intake, your emotions are all over the place. But usually, lower than average.
You flare with anger when you have your own expectation and image of pretty, but then get told “you are too skinny,” from a boy.
You are paranoid that even drinking a diet soda will make you bloated, and everyone will see you like a cow.
The anchor plunge rush when you see in your jaded eyes “how MUCH you weigh.”
What if scales could read and tell us, how little we weigh?
But how is that possible, when I used to step on a scale:
You get the picture.

I by no means want to encourage what an Anorexic would consider being “the pros” of having this ungodly disorder brings, but for educational purposes, I will list them.
You feel a sense of euphoria, almost a high when your hunger pain passes.
Then not only do you feel accomplished for getting through that stomach-being-put-into-a-cheesegrater-feeling
You smirk at the accomplishment that you are getting smaller
You feel confident in yourself. For things such as hip and collar bones are supposedly attractive when they are protruded.
Though now that it is 2018, and sayings such as “thick thighs save lives” are being tossed around- it’s not like the earlier to mid-2000’s where being skinny was the most desired body in society.
It is now present day, and before I tell the tale of how I made the number on my scale raise,
I must put out a message,
That I am writing this as a lesson.
I hope you find my story, inspirational and helpful.

The Doctors all told me that Anorexia is a choice.
For someone that spent thousands of dollars and hours becoming an expert,
I facepalm myself, mentally,
Every time I think back to the day I was diagnosed.
Those rooms all smell the same.
Whether it was the
Exam room
Doctors office
I even remember what I was wearing on this dark day.
Isn’t it fascinating how your mind can push back or tuck away specific memories?
But then,
We all have those few
That can be remembered so vividly.
Even when, we don’t want to remember.

After taking what felt like a million tests,
From mental to physical health examinations,
Gave my doctors the determination to make an accusation,
And that’s basically exactly how it happened.
I had just gone to my doctor for a physical to get cleared for the swim team.
Little did I know,
I would not only be swimming in my team’s pool,
But also an ocean of my own.
My first road to recovery.
I remember;
Being led into a small office that smelled like all the rest.
It was dimly lighted,
With bland art on the walls,
And carpet that would make any modern-day designer puke.
My father and myself were placed in wooden chairs with cotton cushions that felt as though no one had ever sat in them before,
As if no one had ever sobbed their eyes out from the news that blew a patients mind.
And it was my time.
Doc walks in;
“Julia…Julia, Julia, little….beautiful Julia.”
I looked at her with my big emerald eyes.
“What?”, I thought to myself.
“Am I dying?”.
Truthfully, I was.
“Julia-Katherine…” (she used my full name, I knew I was in trouble)
“You are Anorexic.”
She labeled me so quickly.
She marked my so vastly.
She gave me a label that will forever stick with me.
“What…what do you mean?”, I scoffed.
“Ms. Katherine, you have Anorexia-Nervosa.”
“You are fucking crazy.”
(Yes, I really said that and have said worse to my doctors)
“I eat…until…I’m full.”, I protested.
“Like any normal person.”
How dare someone, let alone a doctor, who has only known me for about an hour
Tell me something that I still to this day have a hard time believing.
In a way.
That is just my microscopic ego comes into play. (i.e., I don’t believe in egos, for myself at least)
Is this why psychology as a subject, as a field, was invented?
To give a term that will scab, scar- but never fully heal, to who I am?
Where did society come up with the symptoms of Anorexia?
Where the fuck did the term, Anorexia Nervosa even derive from?

Doc shook her head and put her hand on mine.
She informed me on my:
-High key-tone count
-Extremely low BMI
-Surprisingly still semi-strong heart, that was running in the potential of dying as it did so quickly develop
I sat there in that wooden handled, cotton cushion chair.
I saw what she meant,
Looking at everything with new eyes from my fingernails and hair, seeing for the first time how they and so much more of me, physically were brittle, bent and just about spent.
I crossed my legs so tightly, hoping they would look a bit bigger, maybe only slightly.

There are just not enough pages in this world,
Not enough ink any in a billion pens,
And too many thoughts in my head,
To explain
The dehumanizing feeling
I received,
And had to grieve,
That I was given a label,
Which I never thought of,
Or would even consider would be present or welcomed in my life.

The rest of that visit was visualized in grey.
Giving me a recovery plan and schedule,
Down to what I would eat,
Six times,
All and every day.
Until I would weigh in at a weight that would make everyone smile.
Until I would be able to eat everything off my plate, though little did I know, that wouldn’t come for a while.
This all seemed so so vile
In my very juvenile mind.
I didn’t realize that on this day I was supposed to get a sports physical,
That I would be declined
And denied,
I knew one thing;
It was time to fight.

To be continued….

Girl On Fire

Just one kiss,

And you’ll be hooked to her fire.

Its an experience that can’t compare,

Too any drug you may think gets you higher.

She is art,

She may be ripped at every edge,

But shes a masterpiece.

She has no idea the chaos she causes,

But it always turns out to be the most beautiful chaos one will ever see.

Just one spark and she can bring anyone back to life.

Just wait and see….

When she takes flight there’s no one there to stop her.

Her ashes are burning,

Her ashes are smoking.

There’s no where for her to hide.

In this fire that burns inside her it ignites a starless night sky.

Even though shes on her own,

She knows shes never on her own.

There’s two bodies in the sky,

That look down and produce her light,

That she calls her own.

So here’s a poem from her heart,

There is no such thing as home sweet home,

For she knows that her trauma is how she has grown.

She questions why her reflection looks like a complicated objection.

Her heart needs to be free,

Too fly.

It burns,

With the need to know,

The reason why;

She was held under a fist, knife, and body.

She once used to run and hide until her memories faded away.

But she realized that she needn’t waste her genius mind.

As a writer,

Shes an automatic fighter.

She told them all to stick it.

Shes burned since she was born,

She only cries a little bit before she dries her eyes,

Because this woman on fire isn’t a little girl anymore.

Chemical Cocktails

Its interesting that the only interest in early twenty teens is experimenting with brain chemistry.

I haven’t seen some of you sober for more than a week.

That just makes you look weak.

Let me speak,

I know what its like to get a whiff of a toxic antidote,

Even when you fuck with coke, it won’t make you stay woke.

Even if all you do is toke, you still look like a joke.

Its interesting the way how I see things,

Everyone feels the need to pop out a baby or be given a ring.

What happened to being in our twenties?

What happened to discovering ourselves?

I’ve been the most independent I have ever been in my entire life;

Which makes me think,

“Shit, I don’t want to be anyone’s wife”.

But that’s just a 21 year old me thought.

Love felt like his knife to my throat,

He fucked everyone but me,

So I know he thought of us as a joke.

And when he left me on the concrete floor,

Cold New Years night,

I don’t want this shit anymore.

You spat in my face I’m a whore-

When really I hit my books to help me soar.

You lied to me like a religion,

But wouldn’t lie with me unless I gave you Christian Dior.

But you still called me a whore?

What a mother fucking bore.

You think you are better now?

Honey, you are behind bars,

You only say that cause I’m not around.

I got tired being projected as a clown, my frown used to hold to pieces gravel you smeared my face into.

There’s nothing that you can undo.

You never did,

Never will,

Have a clue.

I’m working on an empire that needn’t the burden of a bloodsucking vampire.

I tire of childish games, they are so lame now-a-days.

While some of my generation is stuck in play; I’m in a hyper-drive to improve my life.

A word of advise,

Once you stop viewing the worlds opinions, you stop being a minion.

It’s independent.

It’s scary,

Only a first.


You realize,

You quench a thirst for independence and freedom,

Some, may have not ever realized they needed.

Just a Little Life Update

Hey Readers,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know there are some of you that are probably thankful for my break. Not blasting my blog posts into your social media feed and what not. But, as I promised, I am back.

Lately life has seemed to be going by so fast. There are days that I feel don’t even feel real to me. Carrying around as much responsibility that I have on my shoulders these days has been one of the most surreal feelings I have ever experienced. And the thing is, it won’t go away, it will only go on. When you suddenly become the head of a house, the power is at first riveting. Soon after, it becomes exhausting. I am twenty-one years old and I am already living an adult life. Who would have ever figured, for the person that I am, that I could handle it all? But I am yet another hopeful example; that human nature is capable of change.

For I have had to change for not only myself personally, but also for my future. I cannot begin the explain the loss that 2018 has brought onto me. My first loss (though a chosen one) was in early January. Followed by March, and then April. I am incredibly impressed at my will physically to not just fall to floor screaming and crying. There was once a time in my life that that would be how I would resolve my emotions. I feel as though at this point I have endured so much loss that my body is just used to it. Its been barely two months and I still haven’t broken down yet. Will I ever?

On a more positive note, I have applied to a few major universities and have already been accepted into John Hopkins! I was offered a full ride into their Philosophy program. How crazy is that? I am now just waiting on Brown, Yale and NYU. My hopes are looking quite high from what my advisers tell me.

I have received support in these last few months. But I still can’t help but feel as though I am alone in this world, now, more than ever. I am wondering if this is only a temporary feeling. Because I find myself hugging my pillows a bit tighter than usual. I’m tired of missing. I’m tired of feeling like I am not missed. I am more machine than human lately. My friends are what make me smile the most. But even when I have a room full of them, I still find myself alone in my mind. Thanks, Halsey, for that line.

I will be resuming posting every Monday. To be honest, I missed my blog, very much. If you guys have any ideas or topics you would like me to write about, please let me know.


Julia Katherine

Final Generation: Recall

Is it too much to ask to live in a world where everybody can be themselves freely? The little world that I have created in my head is my sanctuary. A place so pure; pure and kind, any person or creature trans, queer, gay or bisexual, are welcomed to romp burden free of masking their true colors. The current state of my physical reality is atrocious. Of all the burdens my physical world already carried, it leaves me so confused as to why my government decided to archaically repress relationships and intimate relations with members of the Queer community. It is selfish to keep the intoxicating experience of love and passion away from an individual community, or anyone for that matter. It’s inhumane. We as human beings are not biologically or neurologically built to comfortably live an altered lifestyle, suppressing any part of what makes us who we are, just to abide by society’s definition of what’s “right.” Falling in love doesn’t always mean it has to be done a right way. No book, belief or opinion should matter or dictate anyone’s choices on how they want to live their life, as well as with who. Having to be trapped in a mental cage and wear a mask every day is its form of torture. Eventually, we start to break. It starts with a few cracks, like a pebble hitting the windshield of a car, and then one day an unexpected speed bump comes along, and we shatter. Frank Bidart wrote it best:
Lie to yourself about this and you will
forever lie about everything.
Everybody already knows everything
so you can
lie to them. That’s what they want.
But lie to yourself, what you will
lose is yourself. Then you
turn into them.

That’s what happened to my world. Rightfully so, the warriors of the Queer community reached their breaking point with the Breeder operated “government” system- and how the public endorsed their corruptions. That hatred between the Hetero’s and the Queer’s boiled over into a hell born war. The amount of blood that was shed between these two groups was ungodly. This was right before I came into the world and I am a part of the outcome or, “solution” as the leaders projected. An inhumane agreement to prevent any future conflict that might trigger another battle and also make sure we don’t kill off the human race. A law was passed prohibiting any and all natural human reproduction. You may be wondering, my dear reader, how there is still a human population left, and how on the Government’s green Earth is it possible for a democracy to take over the organic regulation that is sex? Let me first explain the process in which I and the rest of Generation 00 were concocted. Generation 00 was the first successful era of humans to be fabricated in test tubes. These “test tube babies” are genetically modified not to carry gametes, the human sex cell and live out their utero state inside a vile for nine months. Like a timer going off for Thanksgiving turkey, once the fetus is fully developed the prospective parents receive an alert via text message or email that their bundle of matured cells is done baking and ready for pick up. The most disgusting part about this; parents (or, I like to call them buyers) can build their perfect spawn. Technology has gotten so advanced after you sign all the paperwork and shovel out thousands of dollars. The couple is then taken separately to the lab to have their sperm and egg extracted. Once that process is completed, and your specimen is correctly mixed up, you are presented with your impending baby’s genes. Right there in front of you are the chromosome, microfiber detail to what their child would be. When in the old days, one of the biggest highlights of a pregnant couple is the wanderlust of what it’ll look like. The doctor then helps you thread the future fetus into a nice, unoriginal meat sack, that is technically human. Perfectly biologically modified, minus the gametes cells. There have been rumors of Generation 01 will be another preliminary trial for doctors are wanting to remove the part of the hypothalamus that is linked to the human primitive sex drive. The reasoning behind this demented theory is that because people are now being manufactured, there is now a one in a million chance for a test tube fetus to be gay. One in a million fucking chance of being different. How screwed up is that? I have had many mental battles with myself trying to find the root of what caused humanity to become so entitled to being superior over another. The Breeders are lucky it happened this way by not being straight the outcasted sexuality. But since we are only human, that one in a million chance happened to land on me.

My name is Rowan, I am sixteen years old, and I am a gay female living in a genetically modified world of straight, or what I like to call, blank people. This is not me slandering Breeders; I use the word “blank” because in a time where the entire human population is assembled like dolls that all look the same, making us predictable. Personally, I believe that one who lives a predictable life does not live at all. What the Queer warhead didn’t realize was that the breeders received the better end of this deal, that everyone would now be exactly like them. I have yet to meet another person who sexuality isn’t like everyone else’s. And with how slim the chances are of the outcome, I doubt in this lifetime I will meet someone like me. What bothers me the most about the state of my world is the fact that humanity is deprived of the intoxicating feeling of lust. The world I see has an empty void where excitement and passion used to be. Taking away the main purpose of sex to prevent humanity from killing itself? Ridiculous. I am thankful for my mother, who is a millennial, the last generation before the government hit the restart button on humanity, she tells me her world was on it’s way to holding stable equality between the Breeders and the Heteros. And that humanity is now dull and colorless, for most of us are now the same. While humans are still capable of finding love (or tolerance I should say) and a mate to settle basic emotional needs, when two people get together it isn’t the same as it once was. I am lucky both of my parents met and had a connection long before everything turned to shit. For I see the looks of the parents of my friends, and it is nothing to what they have.
The place inside my head is much like how the universe used to be. I am a one in a million biological mistake. I see this as a blessing in disguise. I was generated to be put on this planet called Earth to end this archaic production. I will remind the world of the magic that lies in compassion and acceptance in my lifetime. I strive to bring back the exhilarating lust for life that once fueled the human soul and captivated millions of hearts. Dear reader, whether you identify as straight, transgender, gay, pansexual, A-sexual, bisexual, transgender, you are perfect. Learn something from my story, separation and hatred almost wiped out the human race. Why not attempt to come together in love? I cannot be the only one in this galaxy which is drained of waking up every day to the same bland society. I have not lost hope in the human abilities of an adjustment for positive change. I feel as though humanity needs to prioritize finding balance. As a species and individually. Balance creates peace, and peace brings harmony to not only the world but also the human race.

Mother’s Daughter

I’ve watched my mother kill herself a little more each day.

I’m not mad at her,

All the time.

Mommy, please get up…

I hear a fifteen year old me say in hushed tears;




Food addict.

Growing up I heard my parents scream and mom would slam the door behind her as she would head to the nearest place she could get a big mac, because fighting with my dad over that big slap across my face, was always so tragic.

My mother and I had much in common, like mothers and daughters do, I’ll just list a few…

1. We both had eating disorders, just opposite ends.

2. We were both born in August.

3. We can both be so blind to destruction if it comforts or shields us away from a problem. Whether at the bottom of a B.K or Bacardi bottle, or for me at a time, a cocaine baggie.

I stopped.

For my poison was killing me faster,

And I thought to myself, my parents don’t want to find my body laid out dead and plastered.

My father would harp on me for my immortal immaturity.

When I got sober I found clarity.

Mom, can you join me?



Deep depression and physical illness is the realist and the coldest killer. I just wish she knew that I wanted to save her.

Monkey see, monkey do,

Mama doesn’t give a fuck of her own life, why should I?

Because a daughter is supposed to look up to her mother, and I once did so brightly,

But so quietly she made her exit,

Mama, why?

I know some of it you couldn’t have helped but isn’t your daughter worth living for?

My floor has been drenched in my tears for all the years I watched this.

Walking out for class, I wish you would just get off your ass.

Your depressed mom? Why didn’t you come to me, just because of all the pain he inflicted on me, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t there.

I just want you to tell me everything, including myself will be okay,

Because these days all I want think about is joining you because my joints ache in heartbreak and there’s no one here to wipe my tears and hush all my fears. This is the hardest thing I have ever been through, past the rapes, drugs and beatings- I just need to hear my mom tell me that I’m her baby girl.

I had a pipe dream that my motivation to get up every day no matter what, would be something that could have helped you out of this rut.

I feel like I’ve been beaten over a hundred times in my gut,

Should I just run, mommy?

I need you to send me a sign because my mind won’t stop looping, and all I think about is watching myself grow wings and come up to you. But I promised you I’d complete all my goals and dreams, but where is my mommy to tell me that shes proud of me?

I didn’t come from you, but I’ll make it clear to every one that I truly did. Maybe not born from your womb, but I grew in your heart, you wanted a baby girl that was as beautiful as art.

I wanted a mom who’d fight to stay because her daughter was worth it.

Please take this feeling of being lost and scared away,

I want to see the sunshine on the next day.


I miss you more every minute of every day, you don’t know how hard this is without you.

How to Heal From Heartbreak In Fourteen Days

Heartbreak, heartache, whatever you want to call it, it’s an unpleasant life quake. But, it happens to almost all of us. Recently, I had just undergone the grieving period of removing affectionate feelings away from someone who I used to look at and see beauty; now I just see pathetic. In my case, I never fully explained to the other person just how I felt. Except in probably one of the best poems I have ever written, that was given to him on Christmas. But he’s a smart one; I’m sure he could just tell by the way I used to look at him.
In my journey to get back to me, I decided to write down the things that helped me find myself again. And hopefully, these tips can help you, my dear readers, to mend from the gravel grasp of heartbreak.

Play Those Sad Songs. You need to let it out.

We all have our favorite sad songs that sing lyrics you wish you could scream in that assholes face. I found myself avoiding sad songs on my playlist, for I hated the thought that the tears I would shed, would be over a shithead. But, one day, I pulled into my driveway. I decided that this was the day I would let those songs play. And I did. The tears following were gruesome. I feel as though the realist tears that fall are the most cleansing. It is scary crying alone. But crying is scientifically proven to make you feel better; it’s a release. So, put on whatever is on your sad girl playlist, grab a pillow, find your comfort place; you’ll feel so much better the following day.
Here’s a list of my personal favorites:
River- Ed Sheeran, Eminem
Crowded Places- Banks
Medicine, Youth- Daughter
Sorry- Halsey
Fly Away; Mama Always Told Me- G- Eazy

2. Make Yourself or Your Space Over
This has to be one of the most important tips I could give. For after I separated ways with my lover, I hated going into my room, more than ever before. I couldn’t comfortably sleep without wanting to cry myself there, knowing that he was the last one to lie there in my body. Besides my bed, I would look around and see all the places within my white walled room- where we would crack beers and smiles. But I also saw the last time we were in my room together; it was so god damn vile. I just got my beautiful natural hair color back, so I wasn’t interested in coloring my hair. So, I did the next best thing. I went to IKEA. Picked up new furniture, new sheets, and comforter, untouched by any boy. I now find myself sleeping so much more peacefully. I also advise doing this with the mentality that it’s for YOU.

3. Get Out Of Your University Sweatshirt and Grab Some Heels
Ladies, I can’t tell you imperative this is. A symptom of depression is a lack of care in hygiene. And no, I didn’t go four days without showering. But I found myself just not giving a shit about what I looked like, and I am woman who takes pride in her fashion, but while going through heartbreak- it didn’t matter. I resided in a baggie hoodie I could hide my face in when I felt random tears rushing in. Aren’t those the worst? I’m almost certain that I went through all of my leggings and sweatpants in a matter of days. My friends didn’t even recognize me walking (I always wear heels) at one point. That’s when they realized I was seriously not okay. As much as you can, try to fight the feelings of just wanting a fluffy blanket and a baggie shirt. Get your ass out of bed, take a hot shower and make yourself up. I promise, getting out of bed is the hardest part. You’ll want to do anything you can that doesn’t involve just sitting around binge watching YouTube because let’s be real, videos can’t fully distract yourself from that distaste that was spat hurtfully from him to your face. It doesn’t matter if you have a place to be or not, make yourself up. Massage your own body with lotion, do a face mask. You are relearning how to care for yourself after the X amount of time you spent with that stupid boy. (or girl) This was something that hugely helped me. Now, I’m back to everyone in the halls turning their head as they hear me coming. 🙂

4. Don’t Isolate Yourself
See the title of this next tip? Follow it. Follow it. Follow it. I am notoriously known for locking myself away to the world so that no one can see me cry. Especially over a guy, I just feel so humiliated. But this is why we have friends. I can’t even begin the express how thankful I am for my best friend coming over, even when I had denied her company. I just didn’t want her to have to hear me cry for the same reasons as the why I felt the way I did. But, that’s what best friends are for. Not to mention, if she sees me cry over anyone, let alone a boy who broke me, like a bully breaking another child’s toy; well, I just hope none of my ex’s encounter her. But in all seriousness, we are human. As communal creatures, coming together during times of sadness is part of what builds up back up to who we are. I even found this time to seek comfort in my parents. As much I can, given my personal family life. But even that helped. I am always seen as the bubbly, loud, spunky little Irish lass, which is another reason why I didn’t want to come out of my room unless it was for class. Having people see me so sad, over a breakup? Fucking pathetic. I’ve sat in class with tears streaming down my face from much, much worse. But, it took my best friend to physically drag me out of bed for me to start this tip. I am oh, so, thankful for her.

5. Get Yourself Some Sex Toys
Get your best friend and make a run to the mall. It’s time to get yourself a vibrator. I say this for the girls who find themselves wanting to rebound. I have intimacy issues, so I have never been one to jump to the next one after a breakup. Hell, it took me almost a year to spend more than twenty-minutes with this last one. Or if you miss the good dick, whatever your reason is, get a jackrabbit dildo and let yourself have it. Pleasuring yourself not only gets yourself more in touch with yourself (Ha, masturbating puns) but it’s a healthier way to get over your ex. Rebounding not only looks bad on your part, but it’s also unfair to whoever it would be. Misplacing feelings and projecting is one of the worst things you can do to anyone, in my opinion. Not to mention, your next partner will be more than pleased to see how intuitive you are with your sexuality. A man loves a woman who knows what she wants.

Breaking up sucks. And you can’t force someone to stay with you. No matter how hopeful you once were in the glimmer that could have been with him, it’s gone. Forever? Eh, who knows. But for now, it is time for you to grieve. But grieve with the goal of getting better. For I know it is so easy to live in sorrow for what feels like forever. These were five steps I found that helped me get through the woods in just fourteen days. The truth of the matter is, we are born to die and only have ourselves for eternity. Feel your feelings; they are valid. No matter how many names he called you. Just ask yourself, from those, what did he gain? Just know, it gets better.


Julia Katherine


I am thankful.
I am thankful to be adopted.
I am thankful to be adopted by my parents because I would not have the roof over my head that I have had my entire life.
I am thankful to be adopted because I would not have gone to England as an infant,
Or see my fingerprint left on the window of many window airplane seats.
I will always repeat this,
For this is a lesson of appreciation that keeps me believing.

I wish to be something above and beyond in this world,
And though I am so very talented about the writing of the times life has sent me on a
I am strong enough to twirl a suffocating whirlwind into a 180-degree twirl.

Survivors work harder.
Split through,
My healing skin,
Tells me there’s more to life than just living.
But I would rather spending my time writing and giving.
For from that slice I realized I’m not just a sexual device, and whom I need to get my justice from.
So, run.
For I no longer have a fear of guns,
Both physically and mentally,
Because really,
How many times could I put myself on trial?
Not for this long of a while,
Remember what I said about being a survivor?

So I thank you,
Mom and Dad for teaching what it means to be truly glad.
For the musk that haunts our days now never has or will collide with most of my childhood days.
And I believe even the darkest childhood and adult days can be glazed with the saying that the glass is half full.

For if we were all meant to be who was being talked about,
All of humanity would be a monstrosity.
And I am used to people from all over this goddamn town using me as a topic conversation that usually doesn’t involve pity. Well, congrats to the one who are truly brats.

Thank you,
Mom and Dad,
For though there are things in your lives that you regret impression your children,
Just know I have knowledge of those problems and have learned to learn from them properly,
Because in the end,
I cannot mend what is not mine.
I am forever thankful both of you said,

Menus Ludos

Oh, memories replaying memories of you and me,
We didn’t last a year.
We’re just a box of souvenirs,

You remember screenshotting pictures of my Instagram,
Because I looked like such a gentle lamb.
You were looking for someone to practice and play with during summer days,
And we managed to keep it wet that entire summer.
But what a bummer when you decided to give into all the hummer of who I used to be rumored to be.

You caught everything I went through,
And though I will never be new to you;
You caught everything I threw at you.

I’m a bad bitch,
But your mind has me condemned as a witch.
For I no longer wish to prove my innocence to someone who attempted to put a weak variable vex of who I am.
And I’m the one you won’t forget, and probably regret.
Trust me I don’t want to be friends with someone who has a control complex.

Though memories fade you still may think of me during some days;
You’ll see my dark days posted on replay.
“Is she okay, maybe I should text her and say hey”.
You don’t care my chest will be split open for surgery I hope not encounter on any more of days.

You caught all the things I threw away.
I leave that now bitter birthday card I made,
We’re nothing but souvenirs.

Maybe I’m the one the blame.

This meant more to you than it did to me,
I was filled with doubt, but you believed that I could revive from all the fights I had endured.

Maybe you were just too nice to me,
I think it took me way too long to leave.
But on that, we both feel the same.

I know how a fairy tale goes.

Maybe I wanted you to see me and believe that actions could be proven, but once we felt the same,
You said I was the one to blame.

You liked me when I walked around on the low, unnoticed.
When I was coming off of a something, I used as much as my electronic device.
Now you gotta deal with a glitch on your shoulder,
I recently heard a song that sang me relevant lyrics,
“Fuck with a goddess, and you get a little colder”.

Am I still the one to entirely blame?

Boy don’t hurt your brain on struggling to compute of what you’d want to say,
What did your facts for your data did gain from calling me all those names?
I’ve analyzed all the things that I’m sure that you have cried in fear that I lied.
I got into Stanford,
I’m smart enough to see all of the incriminating facts implied on myself.

I’ll bring it down,
I’ll bring it on,
Till the rise of dawn,
Because this what it feels like now;
I have never been accused of being such a heartless clown by someone who never used to frown at the sight of me.
There was a point you couldn’t sleep because of me,
And I don’t doubt that’s what’s still happening,

This is what it feels like.
Because this is getting old.

All of our words have been cursed with dishonesty.
Take it from the girl who had to learn how to build a heart made of armor.
You were always so bold while you watched me moan.

You tried to hide; I can see that you don’t see me.
Take it from the girl you used to take it in; you will get some bad karma-
I can see that you just wanted me cold.

We were nothing but Gemini feed,
And I would have to pay to lead you to my legal leads,
You always said to spend my money carefully.
But the blood that I had bled on the day I wanted myself dead from allegations that swam around in my head,
Swarming me with dread,
Lead me to no longer put my head on having to focus on proving myself innocent to multiple men.

So this is the end.

A Message of Worldly Awareness

The world is crying in fear.

For there is a “man”

In office,

Who hates:






How weird,

That humanity would vote in an asshole and consent to all this

I * N * S * A * N * I * T * Y

But really,

What the fuck?

The world is being shaped to be about how much luck one is born within the color of their skin.

Is this really the world we want to raise children in?

I can’t believe there are still “people” who won’t give human kindness,

Life, we- aren’t supposed to be,

Like this.

Who gives a fuck if a mother feeds her new born,

That doesn’t mean shes whorin.

Stop torturing people with words or hateful actions,

Just because they are foreign.

What happened to my rights to birth control?

This bastard really started on a bad roll.

Any ma-


That demands to be called sir and fucks with my- our rights,

Is far from a gentlemen.

Am I,




Really killing if we chose to have an abortion?

A fetus for any woman takes a great amount of our life’s portion.

And if we aren’t ready for it then it feels like we’re drowning in an ocean of

No support and confusion.

I think the most disgusting part that I have witnessed,

is a white man who spat poison to a Muslim,

Screaming he deserves to be in prison with the “rest of them”.

Fucking lame.

Life is a game, but if the choices we make,

Make us who we are;

I say, produce shining stars,

Don’t fall out of the sky.

Lets get out of this jaded prism,

And let some light in.

I don’t believe in the violence,




There is nothing productive about harsh lightening.


It is,


But lets delegate.

Fuck any man who expects me to be in the kitchen with his dinner plate.

I’m getting as many degrees as I please.

My intelligence is beyond all of this.

My voice is bait to put an end to all of this,

H * A * T * E.


Let’s look at this worldly,

We all,






So why try and squash a part of humanity,

Fight fire with awareness and love.

We all feel as though the weight of the Earth and

Some days,


Is on our shoulders.

We can make sure the world doesn’t get any colder.

So lets change it.

Instead of blocking opportunity

with bullshit blocking boulders.





Realization: Philosophy of Communication


Comes when a person has reached their limit. In anything they have been wishing to change, due to stress or discomfort. A common issue I have seen in the area I live in specifically is that- it’s people that are the root cause of many issues and struggles. I am a prime example as well. My most recent example would be my last relationship. For two years I struggled to come to the realization that the one component that was causing me the most grief, needed to be cut. But infatuation and manipulation are two powerful things. I was blinded by both. Also at the time, I thought I deserved what I was getting served due to my abuse. But that is a victim mentality I know longer believe in.

We all have to come to a realization in order to change our personal nations. No one on this planet knows us as well as we do. If we make it a priority. I used to have people that knew me better than I did because it is easier to be taken under someones wing, rather than spreading our own. But how do we achieve full control if we do this constantly? We don’t.

A lot of people have problems or a fear of change. Which is something I have always embraced. Anything new I have always been excited for. I mean why not? I do understand that some people are the most comfortable in their bubbles and schedules. But I wonder, even for them, if it ever gets boring. It must. A key to happiness is to have variation in one’s life. Without it, we know what to expect- and that’s never fun. I am one who encourages challenges and new relationships. Flux is a constant and natural state of our lives out and in our control and liking. I will never understand the beings who insist on never changing or trying. How are we or they supposed to learn anything new? They don’t. When we can expect how a day will go- it is not an exciting time. For someone of us I realize there may be limited options to changing things materialistically. Okay, well fuck materials, what about the mental? We have the absolute power in our brains on how we want to feel and act. I don’t even believe that mental disorders are set backs anymore- though they are challenging and make daily life harder- they are still no excuse as to why one shouldn’t embrace change.

From my view: I have been through more abuse, in such a short amount of time- than anyone should even think of in their life time. So when I see people struggling with things that just include a change of mentality, its hard for me not to be stern. For I know what its like to be on the floor bleeding out, wondering and hoping if I would wake up as me, or an angel. I am an inspiration for a reason. I have fire to inspire. My words are meant to for my readers to close their laptops and feel stronger. Want to live a little longer. For I couldn’t imagine my life if I never struggled. To be honest, if one does not find inspiration or motivation through their struggles- that meant they didn’t truly struggle. For I believe in every human, we are smart enough to learn from our pain. But some beings bask in their fountains of agony.

Realize the lies you are telling yourself and the things you aren’t taking chance on. For how we are supposed to make new memories, stories or lessons without taking a chance?

Message to Survivors;

I’m tired of being censored.

I know all my loved ones are so concerned,

But haven’t you all learned?

I need normalcy- I yearn for it.

My trauma drama is getting real old,

And I have been told,

That I’m getting too old to be scared of;


Certain hours,

Monsters dark powers.

I turn my trauma into a beautiful garden of flowers.

Notice this,

All this pain,

Took so long to tame,

To match all the names to the dark games that I got bored of-

Because being used gets really fucking lame.

So I ask you; don’t turn off that song because it took me so long to actually get those memories to be gone.

I’m twenty-one and woman enough,

Tough enough to make it through this rough,

To speak up for myself.

This shit you don’t understand,

And to be honest, I don’t know if anyone can.

That includes me.

The dark faces I used to see are no longer aloud to swim my sea.

Dear Monsters,

Though I’m going to be a doctor,

Don’t expect me to fix you,

Because you all tossed me in a stew.

And I fucking flew.

Now I’m losing the memories of you.

I hope it makes you shake that I no longer wake,

In the middle of the night screaming your name.

You play games.

Have you ever met anyone who has beat your boss level?

I didn’t feel as though I deserved to settle.

I can’t tell anyone of you apart.

I hope you fiend for my touch,

Because I know it’s such a rush.

But now I crush you.

In my beautiful words,


All created by my right hand,

In a new written out land,

Where no hands have ever stricken me.

You said you liked me.

Mother fucker you were thirsty for innocence,

You make Pennywise not want to throw in his two cents.

Don’t take it personally when I don’t pick up my phone,

Because it comes down to me not giving a fuck- really.

My current role just feels so right,

The connections I have made without you are so tight.

I am light.

No here’s the “damaged”,



We are the revolution who can come up with a solution to make sure,

No more monsters drown innocent children in their poison ocean.

You just have to shine,

Get back to what makes you prime.

This takes patience and time.

And most important of all- your mind.

I used to wake up every night in terror from the nights I used to be trapped in a demon’s lair.

Pulling at my hair,

Wishing he would take all of my air—-

I looked at his eyes, multiple times,

“HAHAHA, I’m not scared”.



Find yourself then go get a supportive team to lean,

Instead of turning to white powder that gives you twenty minutes of temporary power.

Don’t spend time regretting all of those lost hours.

You’ll never come out of that ivory tower.


This isn’t the answer to this,

But I believe that my words are as powerful as Athena’s kiss.

Here are some tips;

When you feel your PTSD seams start to rip,

Don’t chase a drip,

Find yourself a mental whip and put that itch back to bed.

My abuse comes with a bottle of booze,

All because some idiot thought he could choose me,

Use me,

And chew me.

Watch why I fly so.


Philosophy Of Communication: Part one, Chapter one

Today I drove into the morning sun rise. And was completely taken by surprise. When my soul soaked up the premature rays that were so eager to appear first over the horizon. My soul felt as though she was being regenerated.

Today I also realized how comfort and patterns are connected in addiction; both good and bad.

I live differently compared to most twenty-one-year old’s. Don’t get me wrong, I still have many of the same interests and influences around me. But one of the differences that makes my mentality stand out from the my generation’s status quo; is the fact that I realized that we are all present in all of our events, processes and CHOICES. In the peak of a bad choice, we are present, but not fully aware. Granted everything is circumstantial in this life and I recognize that. But lets take a party for our example setting; and at this party walks in John Doe who has never tasted snow, and wants to play. He was raised under the influence that all drugs are bad. But John is at a party, surrounded by his friends who he all knows and trusts. And if they’re all doing it, will one time really hurt?

And John Doe, became John Snow.

With the new name change from Doe to Snow; John develops an addiction. Addictions are patterns of fun, comfort and then survival. Fun, in the beginning. When the drug is still so new to your system, you snort up every euphoria that is promised to always follow after each line. John is present physically for his every day choices, that eventually do evolve from fun to survival. Making sure there’s enough money in the bank to re-up, or at least hoping there will be enough left over from last nights run to get him through his day. John Snow is not fully mentally present in his choices; he hasn’t reached Realization.

Not all patterns and sought out comforts are bad. This is where Aristotle’s ethics and personal favorite quote of mine come into play: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. The negative and positive number line for what can be classified as a good or bad pattern; is as apparent as night and day.
Negative patterns are tightly intertwined with addiction, as well as a considerable amount of mental disorders and impairments. While I do believe that experimentation and curiosity are completely normal and should be practiced in safe environments as well as good mental places- the gamble of John Snow getting caught in the comfort of his pattern vs challenging his inner self. As he lies awake night after night. In physical and mental agony from the come down of his choices; lets hope he realizes his choices before it is too late. Positive patterns in life are as followed; Set schedule, closest thing to a “normal life” as one can achieve (think American Dream), healthy diet and so on.

A life of no trauma, is a rare commodity in this world. The world is truly in a constant state of flux. And as players in this world, game of life. Change is within us. Where did the humanity make a point for change to be something that is so feared?

First Step: Realization

This is this is most important step in the process of change. It is the hardest, because no one else can do it for you.

More later.

No Name Street

Everyone is fighting their own demons,

And when they all collaborate and lean in-

It makes anyone want to quit.

I’ve been full of whit- never only had half of it.

That crimson tasting sinful poison lures you into my petals-



I tried to warn you I was torn out and worn.

Darling I promise you I don’t act like a drone,

When I moan,

It’s as fluctuating as the moons phases that are written in the stars to be

Forever changing.

Our physical fatality is more than I can breathe.

I have shed and shredded so many worn out,

Texts, phrases and passages,

And not because you told me too,

Just like you, the people who I drive to are ones who I respect for their life intellect,

That I might at the moment neglect because one of those old phases was,

“My words in a constant wreck”.

But I’d rather live correct than a mother fucking beautiful wreck.


All my bad habits were and are temporary bad phases.

But I always remember,

With or without you,

My soul is not only excited,

It’s ignited,

By my independent lighted, delighted dreams that are so high they pass Ms. Aphrodite.

My demons are in an over stuff closest,

That represents all the stuff that layers my house- that’s just lost.

I hardly raise my voice, never even raise a hand to try and stand against you.

Don’t you get that basic math is; one, one- two?

I fight myself not to close myself out from humanity.


But here shes goes on another probably already told tragedy-

She doesn’t want to sound like a broken record; but her mind just goes through changing processes to cling to some sort of closure.

I know your affection is not charity,

But handsome used to bring me so much clarity.

The Four Headless Horsemen

F U C K Y O U;

For blocking me from the door; locking my mind making me want to hit the floor.

I want time,

To write,

And recite,

No longer live in a god damn fucking fright.

You know for me how hard that is, right?

Even pen and paper can make fear.

Lately, I’ve made it rare that I shed any tears.

Because I have learned through the years- don’t waste them on monsters that call themselves “men”.

While you all burn in hell, I’ll rise to heaven.

So many years being tasted by empty faces, that make sure to burn out their finger traces.

But the great thing of amnesia is they all become unfamiliar places and faces.

I hope I’m your biggest headache,

Biggest regret.

I know out of all of you I was the only one who had to reset her world.

I’ve been over being beaten,

That’s why I once stopped eating.

Neglect is one hell of a ghost that can haunt a woman to insanity.

But I later found clarity, once I stopped being so angry.

After I let myself be forgiven.

I dream of you begging for my mercy.

But if you all haven’t figured out by now-

Fuck or traumatize a writer

And she will write you and her feelings out because her legal rights can’t reach the appropriate heights.

We were so depressive,


Just a cocaine cock that was an absolute mess.

But like all the rest,

I was the only one who was left to deal with the post-traumatic stress.


I should have taken all of your whips.

And made you all strip.

Maybe hoping it would kick you all into reality, making you realize it was insanity when you said,

“This is okay”.


I never said I wanted to play.

You all were just salty when you couldn’t get laid.

I weighed so little, almost to nothing.

But you want to know something,

I’m stronger.


Self-mother fucking starter.

Three Keys From a Modern Philosophy King

Remember who you are:

Remember who you are.
Not always where you came from.
Because little do some know that the strongest souls are formed in broken homes.
Find a purpose and push through. There are days where my head feels as dry as the desert.
I’m a beautiful writer, this is what brings me pleasure.
Pounding my fingers on a keyboard; breaking records for how fast I can make a masterpiece and at the fastest pace.
I have been told I am rare; souly, biologically, genetically;
Technically I come from two families; that all do love me.
But at the end of the day, it matters most that I see myself grow from a little seed, into the tallest redwood tree the world has ever seen.
I want to grow in evergreen reality; not in traumatic tendencies and drug-induced fantasies.
I enjoy seeing clearly.
I crave more knowledge, life- so eagerly.
My eyes are no longer hazy, and have never been lazy.
Because believe me, even when I was my own worst enemy- I never let the drugs, abuse or treason get the best of me.
For why would I want to have my life be swept away by a paper man; they fall so easily at the truth.
Halsey sang to me, “And you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill”.
I’m no longer for sorry you not wanting to- what was the word again?
With me. Then without me.
I am no one’s god damn key- you have to have a soul and the strength to be able to see.
People confide in me about confidence, and ask how I make mine fit- just like my favorite pants.
I tell my loved ones,
“It’s like a trance”.
A dance that can not be taught in class.
Think of life as a mass.
How do we pass through the messes?
We make them into lessons.
For how can one go through life without taking a risk.
Borrow my eyes; here is another one of legendary Philosophies;
Every choice,
Is us taking a chance.
There are variations of situations and so many possible destinations-
But I have one.
Because at the end of the day you want to close your eyes- like me,
Knowing you have won.
Knowing you didn’t run.
Here’s an example for you simple minds to handle;
How do find our favorite anything?
Like that shop where I found my favorite ring.
Though this is a lesser example in the vast complication that is humanity; and the game we all play called,
I believe I was put on this planet to help make it so we can all live with a little-
A lot less strife.
Living under a knife is anything but nice-
So for fuck sake get rid of those bothersome problems and anxious thoughts that are almost as itchy as lice.
Is when we realize- not always once, sometimes twice-
That living to be nice should be a priority.
Don’t be like the current and upcoming majority,
Say to yourself, “There is more in me”.
Some that don’t grow, ended up slumped and stuck,
Thinking and being used-
Like a garden hoe.
I can promise you that being caught in the negative under toe,
Is a lot stronger than any drugs that can be put up your nose.
And that dark under toe will leave you decomposed.
Now you know.
Don’t make a mistake to think that I am perfect,
Another rare trait of mine is that I know I am worth it.
To awake a flame of a million suns,
That can either burn one so hard they with that December night that they had just run.
But I am in a constant state of fun;
Doing everything with a smile,
Makes life so much more worthwhile.
So I invite you to stay a while-
See that the this world of Philosophy is so worth it to me-
Floors made of diamond tile-
That never goes out of style,
Have you ever walked down an aisle,
Paved with rose petals?
This is why I no longer settle.
Or thing.
Tossing that ring gave my drive a new spring.
Why do I have to called a Queen, when I so obviously hold the strength of a thousand kings.
Realizing that life can give you wings
Is a gift.
But life doesn’t just hand them over- you have to lift.
Your boundaries,
Be open to change because life is in a constant state of flux-
And maybe there are some of you that will say to this,
“Who really gives a fuck?”
And I smile and say,
With that mentality,
Good luck.

Undecided Title Love Poem

It’s happened,

I have fallen.

God fucking dammit,

I told myself no one deserves me to commit,

But then you went and spent all my bad dreams,

Turning them into the sweetest flavors of ice cream,

And the last time I was in your bed,

And I fought off those demons in my head.

But I will admit,

You lead me,

To a place above and beyond.


You love how well you fit,

Into me, on me, with me, beside me.

Baby boy just know that you are not the only one who is scared to trigger all this joy,

We were both used for sexual toys,

In a time in our lives that will be covered by my sweet honey vibes.

I love climbing,

Your body and mind.

You say I’m beautiful,


Don’t you know how you startle me?

My soul was once an empty hole,

You had been used like a tool, I promise I don’t that shit to you, its so uncool.

Can you teach me how chemicals react?

Because I find myself wanting to be wrapped in you.

You feel me get stronger,

Maybe that’s how this lasted longer-

Than it was “supposed too”.

I never understood so much until I got to know your touch.

Your now my favorite rush,

Because we didn’t rush.

You told me to hush my rapid quick fire demons

And I was the one who decided that I no longer wanted to keep them.

I wonder one day if you’ll be him,

But I feel like I’m in a deep freeze swim, going out on such a fragile god damn limb if I asked you,

“Do you want to be him?”.

I always love being wrapped in your vines-

Because we agreed I’d never go back to running white lines,

Or telling white lies.

I believe this winter isn’t warmer because of global warming,

The heat of a thousand amber suns road into my life with no warning.

You still have me soaring over horizons.

Somebody’s son, look at all you have won.

Writer’s Curse

This Writers Curse,

Is as heavy as Hearse.

This writers shit is always on a quick shift,

It’s so god damn dangerous,

It lead me to be completely outrageous,

Raging all the memories that I was caging in hope that it would change me.


A writer can erase their mind from all

The pain they feel inside.

And in time if that pain doesn’t get turned into an entry, talk or rhyme,

It caused me to once follow little white lines.

But that was 2016,

I’ve been done, I’ve been clean. Don’t fucking ream me a new one.

I told you, I’m done and have won.

I have to thank my supporting team for letting me lean on their shoulders,

So I could stop thinking about little white boulders.

Their wasted space and lost times.

But after last night,

I’m going back to quote I said I was nine, that I wish I had said to myself last year, but I was doing way to much yay at the time-

“I don’t ever want to drugs, I don’t want to lose control”.

Beautiful girl, put up your curls, the world is about to throw you on a full forward motion into a hellish ocean.

That was five years before I’d being crying tears of,


I was his underage desire.

For I was convicted at fourteen to be made out to be nothing but a flower used for a thirty-two year old mans disgusting power-

And I can’t tell you the pain of the first hour when he first climbed on top of me to claim his power,

That first hot boiling shower-

That all ended up making me tower.

It ended without any wounds being mended.

Mentality addicted to chaos- I looked to every man as not a boyfriend but a boss.

I lived for the danger so I wanted to be its first ranger-

But I got tired of trying to find revenge in strangers.

A writers curse is both a blessing and a curse,

For I can write a verse in the middle of being so hurt;

I do it for me and my family who loves me so much, who has taken me to above and beyond.

This mass of energy is is something out of the world,

But I swear to you I’m fighting this battle with my hands and not a sword.

This is my world.

Let’s get out of my dark past,

Because look at where I am now, that traumatic bullshit never lasts,

It will always pass.

Beautiful girl who doesn’t let herself get called baby no more-

Because that name has scars beaten in.

Your life is at the touch up your fingertips- for the FINN.

Stop blaming yourself for all the treason-


It wasn’t by no means yours, Dad’s, Matt’s or Mom’s fault that we all got written into his,

Twisted plot.

Dear Family who loves me endlessly,

I know sometimes I shout and scream-

Okay well maybe we all do on the daily,

But that’s because I want you all to see,

That I write these words carefully to help you three come to find,

That this happened to me and not you

And I know that sounds so selfish, but that just isn’t true.

Just trust that when I am not talking to you, I am writing for you, for me and for those who can’t find the light that I did to live,

Because in order to survive you have to give;

Your body,




I know I am the prettiest when,

My smile shines the brightest-

And being a write-tress

is a blessing and curse,

that makes me


“Though she is tiny, she is fierce”

The cocaine lines done on the outline of my soul are heavy

I’ve been screaming that I’m ready.

To take charge,

I’ve been living large,

Choosing to indulge in the natural highs of life.

Because no one tells you that the worst come downs are when lies are uncovered,

And I landed in reality.

That you really liked fucking her.

You wasted time,


Spent time

Chasing a shinier god damn dime.

Who was as new and ripe

Like a freshly picked lime.

Mean while,

Your little lady was sniffing in her white house,

In that lose white blouse.

Little light clouds,

That aloud me to drown out all the crowds,

That no longer speak to me.

Because you had to go and smack me,

In attempt to try and remind me,

“How to act right.”


Y O U.

I ducked you.




What a surprise,

Another free written reprise about your demise.

I write this for really,

To bring honor to me and my family.

I swallowed my pain,

Was suffocated by your vain-

Just for myself.

You don’t deserve my love as he does.

I left you.

I’m an angel sent from the skies above-

You just had to go and shove me.

Devil in me-

We will never be we.

Don’t even dream about me.

I aspire to be your worst nightmare.

Because I still remember the pain

Of you,

Pulling on my January embers.

I made my own healing potions,

I use them to make my skin so soft like lotion.

And I let him soak it all in.

Because of you,

My mind was once a rouge ocean.

“Oh, son.”

Someone should have said to you,

“You don’t have to use your fists when a scared woman resists you grabbing at her tattooed wrists.”

Neglect is one hell of a knockout.

I look back at the girl who was once in a constant state of pout,

Thanks to those blackout lips,

Those bruised hips,

That Brown Eye’s lips,

kissed away.

And now I sway my hips to his touch.

Because you gripped me like a broken clutch.

I was never your stupid whore.

I grab my oar to swim away,

From all the hate.

And even if I’m late to my destiny,

I know that even though I am tiny,

That me leaving you,

Was the best thing done right,



Remember December?

Why must I feel as though I am sinking ships either for myself,
Or the disappointment of others.
I refuse to give up on me,
Because I’m doing this for all of the beautiful souls who never got the chance,
Little honey bees that were never able to fly,
They got stuck getting high.
I never really noticed until the seasons changed,
That I have a never-ending craving for freedom.
I’d rather live my own life than play by someone else’s rules.
My game is much more fun,
Because I am on a lifelong run
For knowledge-
I always say Philosophy saved me.
The shade of blue that has cast itself around my ora is one of the challenges, temptations
And trust.
I give myself the most credit for my self-edit-
It happened so quickly, didn’t it?
You cannot spell trust without us,
Do you remember that day we met in December?
Our lust turned
Sanctuary turned into smiles in your sheets,
When she used to look so scared.
My rose garden dreams were almost stolen by thieves,
I nearly swept us away like autumn leaves.
Change is so strange, isn’t it darling?
Look all around me,
That progression is me-
Helped by we.
There was something in the wind that summer night,
It only caressed my face,
Until I faced it.
And it wasted the old me away.
Don’t deprive the world of your greatness,
I have just been so lucky to see it.

Little Lion Cub: Rewritten

Formally, I would like to point out that writing this piece; I kept my peace. Once upon a dark time in my life, I was one some nobody’s ‘cub’. And though I had long loved The Lion King before this toxic time, this movie became a strange and twisted theme to my life. But I had owned memories related to this movie; deeply rooted in my psyche.
My parents had this wooden chair. It’s red (green, but do I really even know?) Anyway, enjoy this. It is truly from one of the most purest and untainted times of my life.


Come with me,

to run free,

to Pride Rock.

I hear there are sapphire skies.

Fireflies replace street lights.

Hold onto me tight,

Can you feel the love in the air tonight?

Every queen usually has someone she leans on.

I don’t need a ring! I’m glad you can’t wait to be my king.

Everyone will look left,

Look right,

To see us standing in spotlight.

Lets hop right to Rafiki’s tree,

to remind us at last,

that we are not our past.

“Remember who you are”,

Young Nala, young Simba Cub.

And you’ll go so far across the stars.

Life is breezy and sweet like G-Eazy,

when all you gotta do is by,

Hakuna Matata.

It means no worries, for the rest of your days.

So stretch out your tails as slow as a snail.

In the warm African sun,

where wondering free is absolute fun.

Most importantly of all, remember to always give love,

To the Circle of Life.

Wandress State of Mind

Though I run till my breaks hurt
I have loved till I tasted dirt.
And all of the embodiment of a 4’11 squirt.
I have no reason to apologize for all of his lies.
Those caskets are dry to the bone and buried with his dull knives.
People come and go but I still stay me,
I still slay me.
In the control of myself,
I get to know the most of myself
Lately I have been posted by myself,
Blasting Post Malone is better than taking unwanted blows.

Sex used to be an excruciating vex.
But now it’s a spell from my body,
I do not just cast on any body.
My body is a temple.
An example,
Of how a woman should lick her own wounds
Instead of letting goons into her goddamn bedroom.
Dear Daddy’s princess,
Dear John Doe’s bae,
I have something to say.

Hey, try a new part of life,
That contains little to no strife.
Because it doesn’t involve trying to be someone’s wife.

Being twenty-one is so much fun.
And you only live it once;
So don’t be a fucking dunce;
And god damnit, why are you on his arm again,
The night after
He called you
Slow down.
Take your mentality to my town-
To the streets that are paved by a wandress.
Opportunity in any direction her eye can see.
So start exploring,
Honey bee.

Crowded Places

I know you want to go different places,
I know the way I tour around so freely is so romantic to you,
No set destination,
Just me, tapped into my destiny.
Who is this girl?
She’s so frantic.
She’s so clumsy.
She’s so crazy.
Hair of January embers,
Her red still shines in peeks of the darkest of lights and colors.
Oh honey.
I wish I could take you to all these different places, but
You seem to be scared of my possible different faces.
And, I’ve been scared of crowded places.
And I swear I never meant to mess with your head,
I’m so sorry if I have made you sad-
But I’m so scared of crowded places.
Come with me, I’ll take you home.
You turn around and say to me,
What if this life is built for us to be “we?”
Wee lass, I have experienced to much loss in my life from reaching for that we,
I’ve been scared of crowded places.
I know I’ve had to put two walls up for you to lean on,
For all the times I stood you up.
I know you want to be in my spaces,
Just give me your patients.
For I can give you what you want-
I see the way you watch my eyes fall back as my smile grows outward.
I’ve just been scared of crowded places;
For my faces make me want to be waisted.
But sweets, I am already so tainted.
I know you waited,
So have I.

What will I do with you now?

Poems continued

See all this inspiration, love?
See all this ambition, love?
I flew from you, a broken dove
Bleeding dry from lack of love.
My darling Lucifer,
this if for you.
Your fur was made of scales,
that reflected each one of your
twisted tales.
And then when the princess became witness,
she came to the conclusion that his love to her was all an
i l l u s i o n.
Never to become reality; as she became ready to slay the commodity of her wild past.
So the princess slayed her dragon, gaining the strength,
to take on anything.
The rips in her gown were worse than the attempted blows to her iron heart.
For in her mind she knew he was poison;
and now she was finally
in on a happy ending.
Built, written and slayed all by herself.
The sea of shadows is a place no person wants to swim.
Welcome to her head,
welcome to her hell.
Mesmerizing. Chastising. Glisten, Gleam and Glow.
Listen. How far will she go?
Can you hear her demons play on her dendrites?
Crystallizing a broken branch; attempting
perceiving for her perseverance to push to a different major.
When she just wants her natural gifts to be appreciated.
Who is this kid?
Trying to kid herself she could be a science major just like her father, and supposed to be her brother,
but she is the genius prodigal daughter who was gifted a pen.
Who almost didn’t allow her to become who she is.
Eminem once sang it perfectly,
“…he goes home and barely knows his own daughter.”
Daddy, your girl is turning into a lady,
who needs to accomplish a few lists before she can come back and commit to comfortably sitting in your lap, like when I was little. Remember?
My angel.
My angle for a majority of inspiration I put out into the world.
I never forget about you- even though the image of me is blurred like the pee in the carpet;
contribution to the cats as well.
I’m sorry it’s not better for you. And I wish it was.
But that involves bank.
That I will soon have after I submit one essay,
just wait a sec- hey.
Time to close that laptop now.
I’m sorry there is always at least one deadline I always seem to miss,
like how I was once a mistress,
to a mind so in distress,
he held me captive in his kiss.
But I remember better now that I stay away from white lines.
That every day is another day to woman the fuck up.
Beautiful girl don’t let anyone destroy your,
including you.
Cause you have a tract record of getting a head of yourself.
And that beaker boy,
who you see the sunrise in his eyes,
doesn’t belong to you.
But the disappointment in his when
when you visualize doing an activity from your past life,
is not worth it to me.
Though this sober celebration was started by me,
continued by me,
flourished by me,
the rose petals that reside on the my book-shelf remind me of the closest thing to red he and I can both see.

Breaking Her News

I make headlines
like bloodlines
bloody eyes,
bloody lies
bloody demise
I’m on my reprise; it should be no surprise
when I rise to make a point that this joint
has been worn out, has been blown out and sneezed away.


So sway to the rhythm of something new, and maybe you’ll get a clue to who you are currently and who you’ll evolve to; futurly.
Because truly we all have curiosity as to who that will be


Especially when it comes to me,
that sweet pea,
Don’t you know how bright you shine?


The emeralds in your eyes are worth more than the hope diamond,
worth more than all the demands in this damn world;
for we are all walking in our own hells.


I think I’m finally starting to like who I become.


For this is the start of my story,


which will one day make



From an Existentialist

The Rhetoric or Lying

Lying. Being a liar. Telling a false truth. In hopes of gaining either an emotional or material benefit. Manipulation loves laying with liars. But it happens. We are humans with no set ethical way of life except for our interpretations and perceptions. As well as the help of our environments throughout one’s life.

But I seem to be stuck in a time where we were once playing this ‘lying game.’ And there are a select few of individuals who come to my mind, that still spit out tall toxic tales. I can quickly forgive my younger and more vulnerable self for the time that I was involved and even lead this sort of foolish lifestyle.

It. Always. Comes. Back. Around.

One just has to be brave enough to identify what their ‘come around’ is. Whether that be in karma; having the same or similar wrong-doing done to you, that you have once done to another.

But, do not feel bad.

This is how we; some learn.

In my opinion, it is the beings that hold the boldest and beautiful souls, so powerful. Sturdy enough that bravery takes over ego. Confidence left confided in cocaine baggies and careless outbursts with the people around me at one blurred time in my life. One has the right to get frustrated with an individual who possesses this sort of persona. For in most cases that I have seen, they do not change. For the longest time, I even believed my life would with away as my septum had started. Being brave is such a blessing. Blessings come from religion, in religion, there are Lucifer and God. It’s a balance of using such strength for the ethical good of one’s self. Or the selfish side. Though, I do not believe in god. This is the closest thing to a religious connection I will ever make.

It is a person’s choice to take anything they have experienced in their lives. And choose to either destroy it, learn from it and hopefully do better. One of the many tedious and insipid ‘facts of life.’ Don’t we all love those?

Many blame themselves if they are in case an of “taking someone back.” And yes, that someone is toxic for them. That awareness is somewhere, suppressed logic is a symptom of shitty relationships of any kind. Or damaged by trauma; those insipid facts go again.

There truly are so many ways to describe how to be an ethical person, but unless one can live a content life in following a rule sheet in how to be somebody, they should start believing in themselves that they are a good person. That’s how anything positive starts to sprout, in my opinion. Is just believing. It is the kryptonite to lying and causes for the opportunity of hope to shine in. The days where some I see still get distracted with dust and ashes. But some have claimed, and I once too- joint papers are sometimes the only things that seem to hold our joints together. For sometimes this crazy world makes us feel as though we are all flying away to a place of pure light, authentic life. Maturity is what the young people around me SAY they want most. But for some, there are complicated corridors created by young whores who tried to stand in the way of magnificent accomplishment. Even ‘adults’ think they have things stupidly under control.

Recognize the natural bodily high reward system of yesterdays or that one proud day’s accomplishments. But remember to manifest it to days such where we get a little distracted. For some.

Recognize the natural and honest intoxication that comes with the connection. Something as simple as the first warm sip of a hot beverage on the most mesmerizing fall day. When the air outside lingers the aroma of pine, freshly poured rain, and cleansed soil. I have read in some places the rain cleanses the soul as well. Whether that comes from a book, beaker, Beethoven- make sure you find it in yourself. Notice how I didn’t list finding it in another person. For there was a time that the pockets of my jeans from when I was nineteen, constantly remind me of when I ran into the arms of my “savior.”

Find your muse, reader.

Find your natural flow.

For how long do these drugs really last

Do we really want to live so fast?

Pennywise’s Dancing Clowns

How could it be that some get away with murder,
After I wasted 27 hours of being pocked and pried open
Do you know what its like to try and defecate after having an unwanted entity repeatedly shoved in and out of you? Back side.
These are the gritty details no survivor has had the balls the speak of.
As you grit your teeth, regretting eating that first meal since the event,
I couldn’t starve myself anymore. Even for me…
Clenching onto the closest thing to you, it sounded like I was being raped all over again in my bathroom.
This made me scared of food, doing the most natural human functions,
What the fuck?!
I still hear my fathers muffled tears through the door. He never left my side, and if I had let him come in,
He would have held his sixteen-year-old like she was six
And couldn’t go to the bathroom without Daddy holding her, or at least outside the door.
For fear of Pennywise appearing out from the floor.
But Pennywise later came to her,
In his different forms
Of three demons,
Shaped like men.
Each snarling, drooling, waiting to feed off her fear such as IT.
But Bev boasted herself from the book and through her bones
Looking the dancing clowns in the eye and said
“I’m not scared of you.”
January embers always save her day.

In awareness of the “#Me Too” trend,
Thank you, Alyssa Milano, for being the first to send out the inspiration outline for this trend.

Paper Chasers

One day, she thought: “you’ll be able to solve the theory.”

Can one live a life without slaving away at one piece of paper or stacks of another?

Let’s compare.

Manager or CEO


Or be the one they call in for “the big guns”

Ending up in customer service calculating a total;

Or that button down boy in the lab breaking his back over some goddamn beakers.

Where does it stop?

If ones does not evolve with the ethics of our unethical society;

They are deemed unworthy and more often than not, damned to the streets.


So I, we, turn to



We’re all just paper chasers at the end of the day.

Philosophies and Poetry

I’ve been accused of overdosing on confidence.
That girl used to sniff poison to her veins,
Now the chemicals that concoct all her congrats and credentials
Are thanks to her newest confidence confection
I drive to the empty parking lot of my
S * A * N* C * T * U *A*R*Y
To empty out all of my thoughts without pausing to the blaring of blasphemous bullshit on the box outside of my room- that never seems to turn off
A place I  skip too
Never to be scolded
For being something
People look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them of the miles I’ll drive. Destination, another chapter written. I am blessed that this is my gift. I believe being a writer is its subcategory of one having a wild soul.
There is no set definition, no fixed compass set for the due north.
Just a girl, with her pen and paper and passion.
I also know what it is like to have a gift take over vulnerable times; engulfing on weakness from one’s own mind or blows brought on by others. The spaces between my lines sang an album of sorrows; what was the POINT?
The point of writing about my poison, past, present, and future; moderately between good and bad.
For I believe the arche of life lies in the ability in one to balance, listen and learn. Do not be “the last word,” for it will never be remembered.
I see no point to hostility. I used too. I thought that by “roaring so loud” to the wrong collaboration of individuals; there is no one to blame EVERY TIME.
There are some cases that call for call backs.
There are others that cannot be mended; I say no blame,
For no human knows exactly the perception or thinking process of another.

You cannot blame; only explain.

Tattoo’d Meanings




Where do all of these things come from?

She is looking for a sign, to lead her in the right direction

Haunted by the successions of her brother

Of her dear old,


Mother swiftly lifting away

But can still admire her little sunray




Regrowth holds immaculate power that can pull any willing soul

She rinsed off her ripped skin,

Wounds heal.

Daddy’s little science girl- you should know that.

How those mediator cells react and interact to weave over a haunting memory.

Stupid girl- get your head into beakers and out of those books.

Relax. As she gets high off the smoke of her own flared ambitions. Her mind is like no other

She truly is fine, and she knows it

Rising to her own accomplishments

After almost being;





“She does not wear survivor on her arm for nothing”







Mama’s House

There was a boy who lived in a house
Where the walls had holes that echoed opened wounds
That secrets and cement have paved over
This home raised a boy
Who turned himself into a man
But childhood is a parabolic shadow
That molds and metamorphoses
From boy to man
But though he wrote chased his fate in dreams
And turned into something magnificent
The scent of his mother’s wrongdoings disable his sense of smell- when it comes to finding someone with a gentle face and heart to match
Dear boy,
I empathize with you.
For I know what it is like to chase the environment comforts
That reminds us so much of childhood
You should celebrate the fact that I am taking the time
To express the words
On this keyboard; contrasting our upbringings that have lead us to the young people we are today
But Dear….boy? Are you a man?
You have been controlled and conjured by the most horrific beings
But when something as sweet as cherry wine in the sunshine beamed down on your essence
Your pit turned raw

Headphones and Hell Nos

I just want to go home
Seems like everywhere I go
People have the same languages
Green smoke that turns eyes red
They all go off to ski in the powder room
Making love to Jack and Jamison
I swear that door slammed when it closed.
No, I don’t want another drink.
I just
Just want to be alone.
You know these days I stick with headphones and hell nos
To make sure I can drown out the white witch’s tempting urges
But you know these days
I choose to stick with headphones and hell nos
To keep my nose in tact and out of trouble
No I don’t want another drink,
Or what you think
I wish I could go home
But I’m still sticking with headphones
And all these “friends” of mine are leaving soon to go find another high
But I can’t go home,
Finding myself on another strange bed
People are blowing up my phone, asking where their party girl is
Guys, I’m sticking with hell nos and headphones
And they’re all leaving now, and I’ll be sitting in this strangers room
I wanted to be alone
Sticking with hell nos and headphones
Gives me the ability to get high off of empowering melodies and ballads
That my ballet slippers twirl and swirl to in the moonlight of my cherry wood floors
I was never that great at skiing anyways

For My Dream Job Partner

Authors note: I am profoundly and wholeheartedly broken at the horrific news of the passing of a magnificent young woman. Who walked hand in hand into a job with me, we both dreamed of pursuing.  Though I suffered a loss and hardship and had to let my dream sail sadly away- she continued her journey. Rouge waves wrongfully have affected everyone that she left her beaming essence on. Rest in paradise, door buddy. I am proud to publish my first ever Julia-Katherine original poetry piece. That will forever be in honor of cash-wrap partner, Suzy-Q.

I’ve never been called a crybaby
But you have made me cry lately.
My stage calls. My beautiful cast members need me,
I must cover up now.
I’ve never been known as a crybaby, but you’ve made me cry lately
How could someone who was once so beautiful to me,
Turn out to be
So damn ugly.
In the quickness
Of the
Of a,
And I did.
I’ve never won anything in my life
Except to be the champion
At catching myself in the numbered statistics
In which one in four women and children get
Your blow sent me
Tearing, ripping, bleeding
Through the branches, twigs, and trees.
Through familiar and unwordly mental territory
That was sworn by myself…
N * E * V * E *R
To be disturbed again.
Fuck you.
I got up from your blow
And was bleeding
“For no goddamn reason, little girl.”
They empty reasoning of three pairs of eyes
Three too many.
I calmed your demons as you used me as your antidote.
Thinking you slapped all the sweetness,
after roughly sniffing in all my fears.
*inhale, inhale, inhale*
Your fangs were dripping white lies, like your nostrils.
*exhale, exhale, exhale*
Trying to use me to satisfy that
Hunger. To fill that painful appetite.
Poor little boy.
You were never taught to fend for yourself. And that is why you seek wrongful “retribution.”
At the perfectly contoured corners, of my- of her, highlighted cheekbones.
Out of my sweet, rare soul.
Now, I laugh at you.
You tried.
And though the strikes you lassoed to my face
From the claws of your unearthly species
Did not fatally destroy me
The blows from others of your kind have.
And they have taken.
To early.
To young.
To what do you owe the mentally misdriven reason to think you may even think of laying your satanically scarred hands on our bodies.
Not all of us have made it through the tree.
1 in 4
But some of us
1 IN 4
Survived, once again.
O * N * E
I * N
F * O * U * R

My sweet sister, may your angel wings thrive, develop and spread virtue to the ones who need it most. Though you are not here to spread inspiration for your daughter, in teaching her- her worth and what an example of a woman her mother is. You are still here. Your smile still lingers with me, door buddy. This is for you.


Mothers. They are the matriarch’s of the universe, and the name most kids wail when we are in need of a little extra love. The saying usually goes “she’s your mother, you only get one of them.” In my case, I have two. One who has been watching me on the horizon of every sunset for a while now. I was told she had the warmest brown eyes a woman could carry. I see her every day. My Earthly mother, has already been caressed by angel kisses. She’s a fighter, much like ‘her fierce little girl.’ One of my earlier childhood memories seeped into my conscious mind as I sat in my empty house this afternoon. My empty house…the house that echoes painful coughing, the floorboards hollering as the walker is dragged sluggishly across the living room to the bathroom.

When I was a little girl, the living room glistened warmth from the sunlight soaked curtains. We would keep every door and window open, my mother, watching me dance like the wild thing I always have been. Catching the autumn rhythm of the leaves- twirling with them too. Mommy opened up her arms; her blonde hair poured down her neck. “Juuuuuuuuliaaaaa,” she calls me so sweetly. “My little sweet, come here darling.” Like the moon changes forms, I so naturally obeyed my mother’s request. Skipping full force to the oval ocean blue that her eyes glistened to me since the day I was first placed in her arms. I climb to her lap and instantly grab onto her pearl diamond Tiffany necklace my father had gotten for her. It glistened with my mother, not for her. “Julia Katherine, you are beautiful, and you are rare,” she began. Of course, her praising called for my full, young attention span. “You are rare because you see kindness and love in everything around you. You must be kind, but you must be fierce.  The world does not inhabit people who often carry the gift you have. Can you do that for me love? Be my fierce little girl, and then one day, become my fierce woman.” I am at this point nuzzled into my mother’s breast. That never fed my tiny body or touched my suckled lips. But never ceased to be home. Where her heart beat the loudest. I look up at her and nod my head yes. She pats my back as she always did. “But who are you kidding, you’ll always be my fierce little girl”.

That evening we watched the sunset and my mother smile at little me, and my mother as well.

The Dot Theory

“You never find enjoyment without having some sort of curiosity. The kind that pushes your limits lifts you out of your comfort zone and compromises all” — J. Katherine

Curiosity is just another component that sparks humanity’s lust for life. The universe holds a soul similar to a large body of water. Some of the greatest, Pre-Socratic philosophers once believed that the arche of life lies in the elements of the Earth (water, fire, air). Arche is the Greek term for “origin of life.” To find the first drop that triggered the ripple effect, leading to the creation of our current world. While I do not believe that the universe’s birth was brought on by a leaf or a drop of water- I find it fascinating to connect all of the world coincidences. To define why so many of us experience the “small world” feeling. Everything is connected to something in this dimension.

The “small world” feeling is just so. We as a species were given ears to listen and eyes to analyze; to find what Aristotle calls “the good life.” The good life is a theory that states that a person’s arche is to be able to leave the world knowing they found pure happiness. Leaving this life fulfilled in nurturing one’s theory of what their idea of happiness and beauty is. This is also where to the power of Free Will (my favorite human power) comes into play. For you see, there is not official ethic code for people to follow, like directions on an exam, to receive a 100% on passing Life 101. We are all neurologically wired differently to find our OWN good life. But instead, I witness so many followers who are comfortably blinded by media and materials; not truly looking for their self. Then again, those people have the free will to choose to live such a life.

As stated earlier, I enjoy connecting all of the dots and patterns I have to seem to find during my short twenty-one years. We each have our own stories, our dots to connect. This is also one of the MANY times where life can be “unfair.” When the dots don’t connect perfectly to where one might want them to be; it is easier to look at the good of what once was, while making new connections. Look at the sweet moments that drew you in to whatever has now sailed away. Be humble for the opportunities you had, and live freely.